


she used to be mine

by mistyheartrbs



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: (it's the carterwood), F/F, Fix-It, Not Exactly Redemption, One-Sided Attraction, dottie has a heart of...not gold exactly but some shiny metal, i rewrite things because in 20biteen we are giving peggy carter the ending she deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 10:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyheartrbs/pseuds/mistyheartrbs
Summary: What is one Dottie Underwood to do once she returns to New York?Console her old friend Angie, of course.





	she used to be mine

**Author's Note:**

> i've been missing cartinelli more than usual lately so that was the Origin of this monstrosity, as was listening to she used to be mine from the waitress soundtrack, which is also the title of this fic. dottie is a horrible person but her pov was fun to write because s2 really did her dirty. 
> 
> you can consider this a prequel of sorts to "someone to watch over me" since they were both written in rampant denial of s2 existing

Dottie Underwood was not her real name, but it was one she'd been using long enough that it was comfortable, and besides she liked the way Peggy said it, _"Dottie,"_ like a threat, pronouncing the _t_ sharply enough to kill a man. But of course killing a man was _her_ job, not Peggy's, which was precisely why she'd left that fool of a woman behind in Los Angeles with her boytoy and her Madame Masque to find and, inevitably, defeat. Yes, Dottie knew how things would end. The heroes would win, the villain carted off to some jail. That Madame Masque was so _boring,_ anyhow, her motivations didn't make a lick of sense and the way she did things was so . . . inelegant, absorbing rats and people into that disgusting slime. Dottie did things quickly, efficiently, ruthlessly. She certainly never wasted time on simpering, useless husbands or ghost men. 

Perhaps that was why this life suited her so well. 

In any case, it had been easy enough to give Peggy and her sad little group the slip, which was why "Dottie Underwood" (she'd have to find another name eventually, but not right now) was sitting on a train, watching the rain trail down the window, the droplets running into each other until they fell out of sight. Nobody sat next to her thanks to the suitcase in the next seat - she'd have told them she was waiting for someone if they'd asked. Nobody did, though, so it was a moot point. 

_"Train arriving in New York City in five minutes,"_ the conductor's voice trilled over the intercom, pleasant and a little bored. Dottie smiled, just a bit, just enough that anyone passing by her might've given a second look. 

Not that they really would. 

***

The L&L Automat, yes, this was where Dottie would go first. It would be nice to see a familiar face - Angie was nice, if memory served, and 'probably' didn't know anything about any kind of double life being led, not by her and certainly not by her English. 

_English._ What a nickname.

Dottie pushed open the doors, relishing in how they revolved, in the familiar sights and scents of the diner. Anyone who said assassins didn't have any shred of sentimentality had never met her. She wasn't a robot, after all. She just wasn't a coward either. 

Angie was polishing a table with one hand while holding a perfectly-perched tray in the other, looking a little bit out of it. Dottie took a deep breath. 

"Wow, Angie?" she chirped, fake-eager as ever. "Long time no see! Geez, it feels like it's been _forever!"_ Angie's head shot up.

"Iowa?" 

"Iowa?" _Oh, right. That's where I'm from._ Dottie shook her head - _I'm going soft, God knows L.A. made me soft._ "Yep, it's me!" 

"Wow, what're you doin' back here? Last I heard you were visiting family in Russia." 

_So that's what Peggy told her._ "Well, I'm back now! How long's it been? Six months? A year?" 

"That's how long English has been gone." Angie paused, set down the tray. "You wouldn't've happened to hear something from her, would you? She up and left, y'know. Some work emergency in Los Angeles." 

"Oh." Dottie feigned surprise. 

"I haven't heard from her since." 

These were the things Dottie knew about Angie Martinelli:

1) She had been a waitress at the L&L Automat for at least a year, most likely several years.

2) She did not wish to remain a waitress at the L&L Automat - rather, she had big dreams of becoming an actress on Broadway.

3) She had lived two doors from Peggy at the Griffith.

4) She spread jam on her toast by moving the bread instead of the knife, a rather useless observation that Dottie had cared to remember anyway.

5) Presently, she lived somewhere other than the Griffith. 

6) She was irrefutably in love with Peggy Carter.

The last one was what got her - what led Dottie here, of all places, leaning on a countertop like a dame from an old movie. Angie may have been an actress and a damned good one at that, but sometimes there were things that were impossible to hide. This was one of them. 

"Well, that's our Peggy for you, isn't it?" Dottie had to say 'something' to fill the silence, to not let the conversation fizzle out. "Always up and going somewhere." 

"Yeah."

"Say, why don't you and I go out tonight? See a show, wander around. Might be fun!"

"Yeah." Angie looked down at the table, her reflection staring back at her. "Yeah, I'd like that." 

Dottie had never hated Peggy - envied her, definitely, wished to kill her, sure, on several occasions in fact, but she'd never _hated_ her, not until this very moment. There she was, on the other end of the country, snogging some whiny little man-baby who'd put her on a pedestal and would inevitably leave her as soon as it came crashing down, and here was a girl left in the dust, alone. 

Dottie's hand curled into a fist of its own volition. 

"Tonight, then? Once you clock out." 

"Mm-hmm, yeah, sounds good." Angie kept wiping down the same spot, over and over and over again. "Say, where're you staying?"

"Oh, I just got in. I haven't thought of where to sleep." Dottie _had_ thought of it, in fact - cut off as she was from the Red Room and Leviathan at large, she knew how to make do with most anything she had at hand. She'd find some gentleman suitor, seduce him, and then throw him in a closet while living in his house. It wasn't ideal, but it would work. "Just wanted to come home to the city, you know? I'm sure they've rented out my room at the Griffith already." 

"I wouldn't know. Hey, now there's an idea! Why don't you stay with me? That big old house Mister Stark put us up in is way too big for just me, I've been havin' cousins and what have you over once in a while but it's really not the same, you know, a bunch of smelly guys you don't know that well, it's not like having a roommate." Angie talked a lot, Dottie noticed this - it was hard _not_ to notice - but she also noticed that Angie talked for longer than she needed, most of the time, like she was filling the space. Like she was waiting for someone else to pick up the slack. 

"Oh, Angie, sweetie, you don't have to go to such lengths for 'me!'" Dottie drawled. 

"Nope, nope, I insist." With one hand, Angie reached for a napkin and in one motion took a pen from her pocket, scribbled an address, and pushed it forward towards Dottie. "See ya tonight?" Dottie picked up the napkin, tucked it into her pocket. 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

***

The gears had started to turn in Dottie's head as soon as Angie had mentioned a _Mister Stark,_ but standing in front of this house only confirmed her suspicions. Oh, Peggy Carter had most certainly lived here, once upon a time, before the City of Angels swept her up in its most ridiculous and most _stupid_ schemes. Dottie allowed herself one tiny grin before ringing the doorbell. Peggy had stood on this doorstep, probably dozens of times. Peggy had pressed her finger to this doorbell, heard it distantly clamoring through the house. But she wasn't planning on doing those things again anytime soon, not with L.A. and that guy, no. So it was just Dottie here, waiting, until a frazzled Angie flung open the door. 

"Hey, Dot - is it okay if I call you Dot? - sorry about the wait, had to get some stuff in order, sorry it's a mess!" Angie still had a telephone cord wrapped around her arm - Dottie noticed the receiver trailing behind her on the floor. 

"Oh, it's no problem at all! I'm just early." Dottie looked down at the mat under her feet - _"WELCOME,"_ it proclaimed, in big bold letters. She wondered where the two of them had gotten it. 

"Bed's probably a little dusty, but I'm sure that's fine . . ." Angie trailed off as she walked inside. Dottie followed. 

"Ah, you didn't have to - I can sleep on the couch no problem!" 

"Hey, now, you're the guest!" Angie paused. "Maybe you'll even like it enough to move in." 

"Maybe." _That's a bit forward._ Dottie was good at remaining neutral - her job depended on it, after all, that and on seducing those with information valuable enough to steal.

And murder, her job depended on that too. 

"Hope you don't mind ordering in, I might be a waitress but I can't cook for shit. Neither could English." 

"Oh, it's no trouble at all." Dottie trailed her hand along the couch, nails catching on a woolly blanket. She refused to admit it - could scarcely even admit it to herself - but she was untethered, far away from anyone who might have known of her other life. It should have liberated her - she had nobody watching over her shoulder anymore - but instead it gnawed at her, fearfully, telling her that she had no other purpose. 

So that was why she was here, she told herself, to find a purpose in the same place she'd been looking for the past year and a half; in Peggy.

"Lemme find those pamphlets, I'm like a squirrel, can't find anything, ha!" Angie pressed a hand to her forehead, rummaging through drawers as she talked, always the dramatic one. She'd do well as an actress, better as one of Dottie's own, though she'd have to work on hiding her real intentions - right now she was flashing her hand, plain as day. Angie was lonely and Dottie could do nothing about it, nothing but stay here and gather intel and play the shoulder to cry on. Everyone had shoulders, after all, broken and bony as they might've been. 

"How long's Peggy been gone?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Angie winked, cautiously, as if Dottie might prance off and tell on her. "A few months. I've lost count." 

Dottie would learn, later, that Angie had kept a precise calendar. 

"Oh." 

"Haven't heard from her since she left. I check the obituaries, y'know, just to make sure, but she's never in there. Must just be super-secret phone company business." 

"Is that what she's still calling it?" Dottie smiled behind her hand. Angie twitched a bit. 

"Yep. That's where she works. The phone company." 

"So she does." _So she knows._ "That's . . . that's real sad, Angie."

"Yeah, but what can ya do?" With a flop befitting the lead ticket on Broadway, Angie fell back onto the couch. "At least she left me with this nice house. Most . . . girls, they just left." 

"I won't leave." Dottie said it suddenly, unexpectedly. _I'm going soft,_ she thought again, _I don't have any direction so I'm going soft._

"That's a nice sentiment, Iowa, but don't take it personally. I wasn't expecting her to stick around anyway. Too good to be true and all that." 

"Maybe she was just trying to protect you." Dottie liked the sound of that. It was better than Peggy just up and leaving for no reason at all, at least. Not that she thought it was true, but it was a white lie, comfort, sweet words. Soon enough she'd leave Angie behind anyway. Yes, that was her plan. No connection whatsoever. Angie laughed dryly. 

"Doubt it." 

"Well, anyhoo, what about that takeout?" Angie visibly relaxed, and Dottie mapped out the house in her mind as the comfortable sound of a chattered order rang out in the living room. 

***

Angie fell asleep early, which shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was a surprise nonetheless. Carefully, always carefully, Dottie slipped out of her own room - clearly never used, this Stark man had more space than he knew what to do with - and tiptoed around the halls. One door was ajar, the lights off, and Dottie crept in, clicking on a light. 

It was a goddamned jackpot. 

Peggy had left in a hurry, obviously, and Angie had either never bothered to clean her room or had decided to leave it as some kind of . . . memorial of sorts. Clothes, files, all of it was just spread out right there. Dottie, completely and utterly alone, couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. 

_Completely and utterly alone. Is that what I am now?_ she thought, pocketing a discarded tube of lipstick. _I suppose there are worse things._

***

Weeks passed. Angie and Dottie settled into a casual sort of routine - Angie would leave early with a note saying when she'd be back, Dottie would snoop around the house until then. It occurred to her a few days in that this had basically become a hobby - she had no ulterior motive whatsoever, nobody higher to report to. There was no grand plan. She'd never admit it, certainly not to Angie, but this worried her. 

In the meantime, Angie was becoming almost a _friend._ She'd get home late most nights, already chattering about whatever prick had gotten in her way today as if she were in the middle of a conversation with somebody else, and Dottie would be on the couch with a drink and a willing ear. Mostly it was failed auditions that got to her, Broadway suits telling her over and over again that she _just wasn't right for the part,_ or a slimy man at the Automat, but sometimes it went just a bit deeper, which was what led her to tonight. 

"I should've known, right?" Angie blubbered, clutching a pillow to her chest, not quite crying but not quite _not_ crying either. "I mean, she was always so 'secretive,' it made perfect sense that she wouldn't stick around forever. She's not dead, that's the important part, but she's not coming back either, is she?" Dottie remained silent. "Probably found herself a fella in L.A. Maybe that Mr. Fancy, there was always something off about him." 

"I can tell you for certain that she isn't with Edwin Jarvis." Dottie almost laughed at the thought of it. Rhythmically, mechanically, she rubbed Angie's back. It was a comforting gesture, or so she'd been told. 

"Why does it _hurt_ so much, though? Usually I'm good at moving on. At forgetting, you know." 

"Well, who could forget Peggy?" It was strange to speak her name aloud after all this time, always thinking it but never saying it. "Believe me, I know." Dottie stayed quiet for a moment, hating Peggy Carter and loving her all at once, knowing it was all an impossibility, knowing the path to redemption was not one she would take. Was she going to play housewife to Angie for the rest of her natural life until some enemy tracked her down and shot her dead in this too-big house? Was there anything else to do, really, but perhaps turn herself in? But she wouldn't do that, no, she couldn't. Just because she felt bad for Angie, just because they had something in common, she wouldn't give herself up. 

Dottie was not the self-sacrificing type, but she knew someone who'd known someone who was, and perhaps that would extend to herself. 

***

The plan came to her slowly, and she didn't like it, but it wouldn't be too bad. It would give her something to _do,_ at least, besides feel alternating resentment and _love_ for Peggy, besides comfort Angie on her sad little life. 

She used Peggy's own stationary, a nice touch that Leviathan never would've approved. They'd never been any fun. Wrote the letter with her right hand, too, just to give the impression that the sender wanted their identity hidden. Not that Peggy would recognize her handwriting anyway. 

_Peggy. Peggy. Peggy._ Was this what she'd become? Not for the first time, doubts crept into her head, but she shoved them aside. It didn't matter. This would _work,_ something would _happen._ Even if it wasn't what she was planning - which was, at the moment, getting Peggy to show up and pay her off with a sum of money large enough to let her go somewhere far away - it would be exciting. Anything with Peggy always was. 

So she sent the letter, calculated how long it would take to reach L.A., waited in the meantime, and when the fated day came she waited for Angie to come home and promptly knocked her out with the telephone receiver. 

***

When Angie came to, she was tied to a chair, and Dottie stood over her with a smirk. 

"Oh, Angie," she said, but she _wavered_ \- Angie saw her waver, knew it wasn't just a fluke. "I really did like you." 

"English never liked you," Angie muttered, struggling against the ropes, knowing it was futile. They were still in the living room, and the windows were open - either Dottie was a careless spy or she wanted someone to see it. "Thought there was something weird about you. I guess she was right." 

"Peggy _respected_ me!" Dottie snarled. "Or she did, until she flew off and left _both_ of us - you know how hard it is to get all the way across the country with a warrant out for your arrest?" 

"Can't say that I do."

"Oh, you think you're funny." Dottie tucked her hands in her pockets - Angie noticed she'd changed into a suit at some point, probably while she herself was unconscious. Even in this state, Angie had to admit she had a gift for presentation. "She doesn't care, don't you _get_ that? But at least _I_ was a worth adversary. At least _I_ had something she could use. You- you were a _liability,_ no wonder she left you behind. You-"

"Lied to federal agents to save her life," Angie cut in, dryly. "Y'know this is what those men would want, right? Us tearing each other apart and crap?" Dottie stiffened. 

"Don't you hate her?" 

"I'm mad, sure." Of all the fantastical scenarios she'd acted out onstage, this was the most unlikely, talking down some kind of - what, even, she didn't know, assassin or spy or what have you - over their mutual feelings for a woman who was hundreds of miles away. "Of course I'm mad. Doesn't mean I'm gonna . . . do whatever this is, kill you to get back at her or whatever you plan on doing to me." 

"You think I'm going to kill you?" Dottie laughed airily, settling herself down on the couch. "No, no, I'm just waiting for someone. I sent a letter, you know, it's good to remember addresses when they're so secretive." 

"Great." Angie paused. "Why me, huh? Why not Mister Stark or Jarvis or, I dunno, the sweatervest guy, since it's obvious something happened there?"

"Because we're the same." Dottie said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You and me." 

"Wow, I've read some terrible scripts, but that might be the most cliche thing I've heard in a while." 

"Are you denying it?" Dottie picked her words slowly, Angie noticed, carefully, always carefully. 

"No." 

"Besides, you were the easiest to get to. No security or suspicion or anything. Just sweet little Dottie from Iowa, looking for a friend and a place to stay." 

"You . . . you _used_ me. After all that, after you comforted me all those times-"

"Use, comfort, same thing." Dottie shrugged nonchalantly. Angie struggled against the ropes again, mostly just for show. Mostly just to show she hadn't given up. "It's not like I was lying then."

"You-"

_"Angie!"_

***

Dottie saw her first. She'd angled herself towards the door for this express purpose. And just like that, there she was, Peggy Carter, bursting through with one suitcase, harried and haggled, panting and already drawing her gun. 

***

Angie heard her before she saw her, and for a split second she was convinced she was going crazy until she saw her right there. It was sunny, because of course it was, and the light seemed to back her like a halo.

***

Dottie felt her heart relax and her muscles tense. 

***

Angie felt like she could cry if she didn't hold herself together. Something broke and burst in her chest, spilling warmth through her veins. 

***

 _"You."_ Peggy turned her attention back to Dottie, then, and Dottie smiled at that. "Of course it'd be you." 

"Were you expecting anyone else?" Dottie kept her tone conversational, easy. That was how you threw them off. 

"What do you want?" 

"What do _you_ want, Peggy?" Dottie stepped closer, unafraid, drunk on power. Peggy took a deep breath. 

"I want you to untie my friend." 

"Anything else?" 

"I want you out of my life." 

"You mean the life you have back in California?" Dottie softened her features, smiled gently, like she'd learned to do in the Red Room. "Aw, Peggy, did you come all the way back here for _me?"_

"Stop it." Peggy curled her free hand into a fist. "You know I trusted you to complete the mission." 

"Why?" 

"Because I thought there might be something under there." Peggy stepped closer, boldly, angrily. "I thought you might have just been . . . misguided. Clearly I was wrong." 

"No, Peggy, you've never been more right." Dottie spun Peggy around, as if they were dancing. Now _she_ was the one closer to the door. 

"Leave. Now." Peggy's voice was icy, commanding. Dottie shivered despite herself. "I mean it! Leave, and never come back here again. Next time I won't be so forgiving." 

"There's the Peggy I know." Casually, smoothly, Dottie stepped out into the night, giving her and Angie one last look. "You know I won't listen, right?" With a wave of her fingers and a wink, she was gone. 

"I can't believe her," Peggy growled, more to herself than anything, plodding over to a drawer to grab a knife. 

"Yeah, me neither," Angie deadpanned. "How come you never told me she was . . ." 

"Insane? I'd figured she wouldn't come back here." Peggy returned with the knife and started cutting at the ropes with expert precision. "I was wrong." 

"Seems like you were wrong about a lot of things," Angie muttered. 

"Why was she here, anyway?" Peggy snapped the final rope off and Angie stood up, vertigo threatening to send her back into the chair. Instantly, Peggy was there to support her wobbling form. The two of them settled on the couch. "How did she break in? I thought the locks were secure." 

"I let her in." Peggy froze.

"What?" 

"She needed a place to stay and I needed a roommate and I knew her, so it just . . . worked out. I didn't think she'd do this." 

"No one ever does." 

"And what about you, huh?" Angie scooted a little bit away from her, just enough to look into her eyes without getting sucked in. "Why _were_ you gone for so long?" Peggy licked her lips, stared at the carpet. 

"You wouldn't want to know." 

"I do," Angie insisted. "'Cause you've done a really shitty job of explaining it so far." 

"I met someone." 

"Sweatervest guy?" 

"Yes." Peggy folded her hands in her lap. 

"You could've told me that." Angie felt like someone had twisted a knife in her gut. "I would've been fine with that." 

"I know." There was silence, then, complete and total silence. 

"So what was it, really?" 

"I . . . do you remember before I moved to the Griffith?"

"Yeah, of course I do." 

"My roommate was murdered." Peggy took a deep, shuddering breath. "Because of me."

"Oh, English." 

"They were looking for me." Peggy straightened her back, took another breath. "I couldn't have possibly involved you in that mess back in L.A." 

"But you should've." Angie remained firm, knew that if she didn't then she'd never be able to look at Peggy the same again. "I'm . . . you should've at least _told_ me." 

"Steve Rogers - Captain America - I loved him," Peggy pressed on. "We were supposed to dance, once this was all over." 

"Yeah, we've all had our fair share of bad things happen to us." Angie fiddled with her hands as she talked, refusing to let them still. "Doesn't matter. Five minutes ago I had a wacko standing in my living room keeping me tied to a chair." She leaned in closer, knowing she was playing with fire, not really caring too much about it. "Trust me or I walk, English." 

There was silence for another moment. 

"Daniel promised to cover for us," Peggy finally murmured, resting her hand on top of Angie's, calming its jitters. It was almost too much. "If anything were to happen." 

"You don't know what you do to me, English," Angie laughed softly, sadly. 

"I think I do know." Peggy paused, looked away for a moment. "If you would have me." 

"What about him?" 

"He is a friend. My coworker. I certainly never had plans to maintain a genuine relationship with him." 

"Good to hear." Angie looked down at their hands, intertwined, and she didn't make any move to break them apart. Neither did Peggy. "You know I'm serious, right? You can't just up and leave whenever you fancy."

"I can't promise that." Peggy looked out the window. It had gotten dark awfully fast. "Just as I cannot promise you that you'll be safe." 

"I think I can handle myself fine." 

"And I think I misjudged you on that front." Gingerly, Peggy brought Angie's hand to her chest, pulled her in. She was still ruffled from what must have been a frantic journey across the country in a matter of hours, hair mussed, coat askew. Angie had never been more in love. 

"Won't do it again, will you?" 

"I doubt it." Peggy moved closer, and the world spun anew.

**Author's Note:**

> peggy and dottie: *do their weird sexual tension cat-and-mouse thing*  
> angie, tied to a chair in her own home: can i get a waffle? can i PLEASE get a waffle?
> 
> peggy's fatal flaw, i think, is that she cares too much and then keeps people at an arm's length because of it. i know that angie's sudden lack of relevance came from homophobic writing and not any actual in-canon reasoning, but i kept thinking of steve and colleen and then rwby had its current arc with blake and yang and i thought "what if peggy left angie behind to protect her?" certainly it's not a healthy way to go about things, but it took hold of my thoughts nonetheless and became the basis for part of this fic.


End file.
